you were gazing at Orion’s belt
a hunter
he will know where to find me
green
leaves your eyes
two herbaceous emeralds of light
mine are brown
have left, did tumble
are fallen and crunched
I am collapsing.
I am ascending.
I am swinging from Orion’s belt.
you are left
acrid pallid ash
green can’t leave
green leaves don’t fall
you’re a quantity
a sum of Saturdays allotted
before the fall and the flight
you have green on all your leaves
through all my hushed and vivid leavings
you can’t go
here are
boys who have too many hands
blue eyes expansive as the sky
that gawk
closing only as dark closes on them
brown leaves misplaced on the grass
four
hours before dawn
when I too am blind in the soot
where all I see is in night vision—
green.
Four Months
Nina Foster
10
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